


Never Stay Away

by ImaginaryFigment



Series: Love Diseases [1]
Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Breaking Up Via Memory Loss, Emptiness, Glass Roses, Hanahaki Disease, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Kinda, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Not very cool of you Ouma, OT3, Poetic, Polyamory, Referenced Surgery, Silence, Story told from three perspectives, Time Skips, yes both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 05:06:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26640040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImaginaryFigment/pseuds/ImaginaryFigment
Summary: Ouma Kokichi knew. He knew the truth.Saihara Shuichi was confused. How didn't he know?Amami Rantarou hated himself. He should've been able to do more.In which Ouma gets Hanahaki and loses the memories tied to his partners.But Hanahaki doesn't go away so easily, does it?
Relationships: Amami Rantaro & Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi, Amami Rantaro/Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi, Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi & Saihara Shuichi, Oma Kokichi/Amami Rantaro/Saihara Shuichi (perceived one-sided), Oma Kokichi/Saihara Shuichi
Series: Love Diseases [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2000803
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	Never Stay Away

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after reading the Exquisite Corpse so my writing style got fucked and then I took a break so the writing style changed yet again...
> 
> Anyway
> 
> Hanahaki Saioumami

_“I love you.” Liar._

_“Yeah.” He rested his head on his hand, looking away._

_“Look at us, baby.” He did. Looked into their eyes. The love they claimed to have was absent in their empty eyes._

_Except for when they turned to look at each other. Then...then their eyes sparked to life, filled with joy and love._

_Liars. The both of them._

_***_

Bright blue and green flowers spilt from his throat in droves, dripping with hot, pink blood. They burned but he ignored it. 

It wasn’t possible. It was a dream, a nightmare. 

Ouma Kokichi didn’t have feelings, no evil supreme leader did. So for him to have contracted a deadly disease based only in unrequited love, something he _certainly_ did not have, it was impossible. Or at least, he could pretend it was so. He could pretend he was empty, not enamoured by the loves of his life. He could play the part of apathetic well. Empty and silent. 

He wished he knew the irony of that. 

\---

Ouma Kokichi sat in the hospital bed, humming quietly. He didn’t know what the song was, he was sure he had never heard it before. 

A knock on the door. 

“Ouma? You have visitors.” The nurse opened the door and a strange feeling overcame Kokichi as he saw them. Longing, desire. It quickly faded away, leaving him to drown in nothing but the emptiness. 

“Ouma? Are you alright?” A tall boy with blue hair and gorgeous eyes. Kokichi looked up at him. 

“Who are you?” The boy seemed to crumple. 

“He doesn’t remember...oh god, he doesn’t remember me.” 

“It’ll be alright, Saihara. Ouma, do you remember either of us?” A strange question from the pretty boy with green hair. Ouma was sure he’d remember such pretty people. He didn’t. He shook his head. 

“Who are you?” He asked again. He didn’t have it in him to make a crude joke about orchestrating their deaths. He hadn’t since he had woken up. 

“I-I’m Amami Rantarou and this is Saihara Shuichi. We’re your...friends.” The green-haired boy smiled kindly, stepping closer to Kokichi. Kokichi noticed a vase of glass roses in his hand. Odd and fleetingly beautiful. Like something long forgotten that his heart yearned to remember. 

“Amami and Saihara? I’ve never heard of you.” A half-truth. He had been given a yearbook with those names in it. He didn’t remember those names. Other names he remembered. Those he didn’t. Amami put the vase on the small table next to the bed. 

“I-I know. I knew he wouldn’t remember, Amami. Why are we here? This just- this just hurts.” The other boy, Saihara, Kokichi thought, fidgeted with a button on his shirt. He looked sad. Kokichi wished he did remember, then, if these two weren’t crazy that was. The feeling was quickly stamped out by the emptiness again. 

“We have to try.”

“He could get sick again.”

“He won’t. Not if we’re more careful. Not if-”

“It’s too dangerous.” 

“We have to try! For him.” 

“What if one of us gets sick? It’s too dangerous. Leave it alone. Let him move on.” 

“Don't do that, don’t be like that! There’s always a chance.” 

The two pretty boys kept talking. Kokichi drowned them out, letting the silence in his head consume him. Eventually, they must have left. He didn’t notice. 

What he did notice was two purple flowers, one on the floor, one on the bed next to him. Each was spotted with blood. 

Odd. 

Something, too, about those flowers felt familiar. 

A small voice in his head whispered, “it’s too late for them now. We’ve lost everything.” He didn’t know what it meant. He doubted he wanted to know. 

He settled back into the silence and the emptiness, blissfully unaware of the flowers talking root in the lungs of his loves, for Hanahaki never stayed far for long. 

***

_“I love you,” he murmured, smiling softly._

_“Yeah.” His smile faded. Yeah? That was all he got?_

_“Look at us, baby.”_

_Empty. That’s all he saw in those lovely purple eyes, emptiness._

_It broke him._

_He turned, looking away. He couldn't look at those gorgeous eyes, not when they were like that._

_He didn’t know what to do. And so he looked into that golden sea, which had always been his salvation._

_His greatest mistake._

***

He didn’t remember when it began, he didn’t actually know. He only knew that one day, he began to find flowers. Petals in the sink, in the trash, in the toilet, in the shower, on the floor. 

Green and blue flowers. Bright pink blood spotted them, marring their soft beauty. 

He didn’t remember when he found out either. Just brief flashes. 

“No...oh my god. No. It’s not possible. He- he can’t.” 

Ouma Kokichi couldn’t have Hanahaki. Amami Rantarou simply wouldn’t believe it. 

“He does- _did_ ,” Shuichi murmured. 

“But- it’s not possible, Saihara! His love wasn’t unrequited! _We love him!_ I don’t understand.” Rantarou paced back and forth. 

“He left us a note. He said he hated liars, thought he could trust us and we turned out to be the biggest liars he had ever met. He said... he said he knew we were faking our feelings for him, wanted us to be happy together without having to pretend for him. He- he said he really did love us.” Saihara’s voice broke and he put his hand over his mouth, sobbing. 

Rantarou swallowed harshly, drawing Saihara into his arms. He gently kissed the other’s head, kissed away the tears steadily leaking from his eyes. 

He wished he could do more. He always wished he could do more. 

\---

Amami Rantarou stood next to Saihara, a vase of glass roses in his hand. 

Glass roses, the same fraily beautiful objects he had given to them both on that fateful night, the night of the dance, the night they fell in love. 

He hoped Ouma would remember those flowers, remember that night. Remember him. 

Saihara knocked and they entered. 

“Ouma? Are you alright?” Saihara asked gently. The purple-haired boy in the hospital bed blinked. 

“Who are you?” Rantarou felt like his soul had been crushed. Saihara didn’t look much better. 

“He doesn’t remember...oh god, he doesn’t remember me,” Saihara moaned. 

“It’ll be alright, Saihara. Ouma, do you remember either of us?” Rantarou stepped closer, just a small bit. He fought off the urge to get even closer, despite how his heart yearned to be closer to his lover again. 

“Who are you?” Ouma cocked his eyebrow. He was acting so unlike himself. No jokes had been made, no threats on their lives. 

Rantarou missed those things. 

“I-I’m Amami Rantarou and this is Saihara Shuichi. We’re your...friends.” Rantarou smiled, stepping closer again. Something appeared in Ouma’s eyes and Hope shot through the green-haired boy. It was quickly stamped out as Ouma’s eyes faded back to a dull, empty purple. 

“Amami and Saihara? I’ve never heard of you.” Rantarou swallowed harshly and put the vase on the small table next to the bed. 

“I-I know. I knew he wouldn’t remember, Amami. Why are we here? This just- this just hurts.” Saihara sounded tearful. Rantarou looked down. 

“We have to try,” he said. 

“He could get sick again.”

“He won’t. Not if we’re more careful. Not if-”

“It’s too dangerous.” 

“We have to try! For him.” 

“What if one of us gets sick? It’s too dangerous. Leave it alone. Let him move on.” 

“Don't do that, don’t be like that! There’s always a chance!” Rantarou exclaimed. 

“Not in this case! Amami, I want him back too! God, of course, I want him back! _But we don’t get to have him back._ He _erased_ us from his memories, Amami. Because he thought we didn’t care about him.”

Rantarou glanced back at Ouma. His former partner appeared to have spaced out and that hurt almost worse. Ouma spacing out never meant anything good. 

But this wasn’t his Ouma. He didn’t know anything about this Ouma. 

“...fine. You’re right, Sai. We don’t even know anything about what he’ll be like now.” Rantarou bit his lip, hard. It was the hardest thing he thought he’d ever do, leaving that boy behind. That perfect, amazing, funny boy who was the light of his life, half of his heart. 

But the other half was still there. He still had Saihara. 

Hope swelled in his chest. They could do it. Even without Ouma, they could be happy. It would be harder, of course, it would. It wouldn’t ever be the same, of course, it wouldn’t. But they still had each other. 

Rantarou turned back to Saihara, only to find an empty room and a delicate purple flower, drenched in pink blood. 

No. No, not again. 

Rantarou sat on the side of Ouma’s bed. He couldn’t lose Saihara too. He already lost Ouma, he couldn’t lose his last love, his hope, his future. 

He felt strangely nauseous. Something pushed up from his throat. Rantarou coughed violently, nearly choking. He spat blood into his hand and then…

God. 

A purple flower, small drops of pink blood covering its delicate surface. 

A fluke. 

It had to be. 

But he knew it wasn’t. It was real. 

For Hanahaki never stayed away for long. 

***

_“I love you.”_

_“Yeah.”_

_He looked up. What an odd response. “Look at us, baby.” ‘Please, Kitten. Look at us.’_

_His request was met with dead eyes. He was given a look that shot through his heart, the purple eyes he thought he knew so well filled with...with hatred._

_He felt tears well in his eyes. ‘I love you...I don’t understand, what’s wrong? Talk to me, Kitten, please’, he didn’t say._

_He wished he had._

_***_

It had broken him. Walking into that apartment, only to find two perfect flowers. One green, one blue, each covered with pink blood. And next to them...that note. That fucking note. 

He had told Amami as soon as the other came home. 

“No...oh my god. No. It’s not possible. He- he can’t.” 

“He does- _did_ ,” Shuichi corrected. He didn’t want to believe it either. But there it was, undeniable evidence in front of his face. 

“But- it’s not possible, Saihara! His love wasn’t unrequited! _We love him!_ I don’t understand.” Amami paced back and forth. Shuichi’s eyes tracked him. 

“He left us a note. He said he hated liars, thought he could trust us and we turned out to be the biggest liars he had ever met. He said... he said he knew we were faking our feelings for him, wanted us to be happy together without having to pretend for him. He- he said he really did love us.” Shuichi’s voice broke and he put his hand over his mouth, sobbing. He didn’t know how it had happened. He thought he was supposed to know. 

He was supposed to be a detective, was he not? Why didn’t he know, where had the signs been, that his partner thought he didn’t care?

And then there he was. Amami’s strong arms, wrapping around him and holding him close. His safe place, tucked against that warm chest, enveloped by the familiar scent. 

It just hurt now. He didn't have that familiar presence tucked under his chin anymore. It was just him and Amami. But would that ever be enough? It would never the same, that much he knew.

\---

Saihara Shuichi squeezed Amami’s hand before knocking on the door. 

“Ouma? Are you alright?” Shuichi asked gently. The purple-haired boy in the hospital bed blinked. 

“Who are you?” Shuichi’s calm facade crumpled. 

“He doesn’t remember...oh god, he doesn’t remember me.” Shuichi covered his mouth, silent sobs shaking his shoulders. He didn’t remember. Shuichi knew he wouldn’t, of course, he knew.

“It’ll be alright, Saihara. Ouma, do you remember either of us?” Those words, that voice, that look in his partner’s eyes...it wasn’t enough. He felt so fucking empty. 

“Who are you?” Wrong. Wrong, it was all wrong. There were no quips about killing them or making them his slaves.

God, everything was fucking wrong. 

“I-I’m Amami Rantarou and this is Saihara Shuichi. We’re your...friends.” Friends. Amami said it so calmly, like they hadn’t been dating for years, gotten to know every part of each other, memorised every imperfection, every freckle across Amami’s face, every colour in Ouma’s kaleidoscope eyes, every mark on Shuichi's body. Like they weren’t in love with each other. 

They weren’t, Shuichi realised. Ouma didn’t know who they were. He didn’t love them. He probably never would again.

“Amami and Saihara? I’ve never heard of you.” 

“I-I know. I knew he wouldn’t remember, Amami. Why are we here? This just- this just hurts.” Shuichi grit his teeth together. He didn’t even want to be in the room anymore. He wanted to be home, in his bed, being held by his boyfriends who he was supposed to fucking marry one day. 

That would never happen now. 

All because he hadn’t known. _Why hadn’t he known?!_ It seemed so obvious now. How distant Ouma had been in the past months, how he lost the stars in his eyes anytime he saw Shuichi and Amami together, how upset he had been on their last night together. 

“We have to try,” Amami murmured.

“He could get sick again.” Shuichi was sure of it. 

“He won’t. Not if we’re more careful. Not if-”

“It’s too dangerous.” It was. It was too dangerous. He had already lost Ouma once. He wouldn’t lose him again, especially not now that Hanahaki had taken root in his lungs and ripped him away.

“We have to try! For him.” 

For him? Didn’t Amami realise all of this _was_ for him, for _them_? “What if one of us gets sick? It’s too dangerous. Leave it alone. Let him move on.” 

“Don't do that, don’t be like that! There’s always a chance!” Amami exclaimed. 

“Not in this case! Amami, I want him back too! God, of course, I want him back! _But we don’t get to have him back._ He _erased_ us from his memories, Amami. Because he thought we didn’t care about him,” Shuichi spat. 

_His fault._

_All his fault._

He coughed, suddenly. Shuichi felt something rise in his throat. 

No. 

God, no. 

Please. 

He lifted his hand off his mouth. 

Sitting there, pink dotting its petals, was a lovely purple flower. 

Shuichi’s eyes widened. Not possible, his mind screamed at him. Not so soon.

He tore out of the room, dropping the flower onto the floor. 

It was too sudden, too fast. But it was happening. 

It was a disease, taking over anyone it could. Any doubt lead to Hanahaki. Hanahaki never stayed away. It never would. 


End file.
